


The Grinch's Gift*

by molo (esteefee)



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Angst, April Showers Challenge, Holidays, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-23
Updated: 2005-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:03:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/molo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hutch finds the spirit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Grinch's Gift*

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ccwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ccwriter/gifts).
  * Translation into Italiano available: [The Grinch's Gift*](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108843) by [silviabella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silviabella/pseuds/silviabella)



> This one's for CC, who can make you believe in Christmas.
> 
> Have a merry one, buddy.

_There should just be enough time._ Hutch laughed a little at himself as he eagerly took the steps to Venice Place two at a time in spite of the heavy box in his arms. _Tinsel, check. Lights, check. Ornaments, check._

Still, once he'd put on all the decorations he'd just purchased, it was bound to look a little better than it did now. Assuming its branches held up to the strain.

 _Doesn't matter,_ he thought to himself. _The important thing is, it's a tree._ He'd bought a Christmas tree. His very first. Starsky would be amazed. And it was a living tree, which meant after Christmas he could plant it, maybe in the park next to the tree he'd given Starsky years ago.

And the truly important thing was that Starsky see it, and the presents underneath. After the year Starsky had survived, it was the least Hutch could do to show him how grateful he was that his partner had made it. He was still alive.

Hutch knelt down next to the box and started unpacking. He'd put on half a dozen ornaments before he realized he would have to remove them again and start first with the lights or it would be impossible to put the string on without it tangling. He hadn't realized there was a system to this whole tree thing.

He was deeply involved in his task when the phone rang, and he almost took the little tree with him when he stepped away with the tail end of the lights still wrapped around his ankle.

"Yeah?" he said, gruffly. He had a little less than an hour left before Starsky arrived, and he might've sounded less than cordial.

"That's my Grinch," came the familiar, laughing voice of his partner. "Full of the Christmas spirit."

 _Grinch? Oh yeah, that green guy._ Hutch remembered the TV program Starsky had made him watch the year before. Last year, when Hutch's heart really _was_ two sizes too small. But it seemed like, after the shooting, Hutch's whole body was one huge, aching heart.

Gunther had taught him a lot of things. Like who was important. And how.

"Yeah, well, you know me," he said, keeping his voice light.

"Count on it," said Starsky. "Actually, that's why I'm calling, Hutch. I know we said we'd get together before I take off tomorrow, but with the overtime we put in this week, I still have way too much shopping to do for my family. And I know you're not into this whole Christmas thing, so I figured it would be okay if I take a rain check until I get back."

Hutch swallowed the hard lump of disappointment threatening to choke him.

"Yeah, huh? That's fine. Fine," Hutch said after a moment. "After you get back is fine."

There was a brief pause before Starsky said, "You sure? You sound a little queer."

Hutch stifled a wry laugh at the choice of words. "No, that's great," he said, more firmly.

"Ooo-kay, then. I'll see you when I get back," Starsky said. "Assuming they let me back on the plane. I'll probably weigh three hundred pounds by the time Ma gets done with me."

 _I hope so, buddy._ Starsky had lost far too much weight since the shooting. _Funny how he doesn't look any less beautiful_.

"See you then, Starsk. Have a good time."

"Listen, I'll—I'll call you from New York," Starsky said, sounding a little odd himself.

"Okay, buddy."

"Bye, Hutch. Merry Christmas." _Click._

"Merry Christmas, Starsky," Hutch said softly to the empty line.

He put down the phone and went back to his puny little tree. With fresh eyes, it looked more pathetic than he'd realized, the frail limbs drooping from the weight of the ornaments, the bare wires of the lights dark against the lighter green of the drying needles.

Well, if there was one thing Hutch knew, it was plants. And this baby really was in need of some care. He stopped decorating long enough to water it, putting some plant fertilizer in the watering can before carefully moistening the soil. Then he proceeded to remove all the ornaments but the one at the top, the small Star of David he'd managed to procure on his hunt. Then Hutch knelt and plugged in the cord.

There. The little thing didn't look half-bad now, with the colored lights softly blinking off and on in the dark apartment. Outside it had begun to drizzle, and the colors glowed in the drops painting the window. Hutch got up stiffly, his knees cracking, and went to the couch where the box of presents waited. He started wrapping them, struggling with the paper, the tape, the ribbons and bows, all the while thinking dim thoughts. Of the past year, and the hard truths he'd been forced to learn.

Presents wrapped, he piled them under the tree until they covered every inch of the tabletop. He'd really overdone it, he admitted to himself. But it didn't matter. All that mattered was the look he anticipated seeing on Starsky's face when he finally came over. Hutch could take the ribbing that would soon follow.

 _People can change, Starsk. Even the stupid Grinch did._ He remembered that silly song that Starsky insisted on singing for days after watching the show. " _Fahoo fores, dahoo dores, welcome Christmas come this way_...." He sang quietly, then laughed at himself.

He almost didn't hear the soft knock at the door.

 _Who the hell?_

Hutch gathered together the bits of trash from his wrapping job and stuffed them in the garbage before going to the door. He opened it to find Starsky standing there, his hair slightly damp and curled tight from the rain.

"Starsk?" he said in disbelief.

"Hey. Yeah, I was shopping down at the Santa Monica mall and I thought I'd swing by—" Starsky was staring wide-eyed over Hutch's shoulder as he spoke. "I looked up at your window and I thought for a crazy second I was seeing things," he went on after a moment.

Hutch was still trying to absorb his partner's presence.

"Uh, come in," he said belatedly, stepping back. Starsky walked in, stripping off his windbreaker, spattering the floor with droplets. He hung it on the coat rack and walked slowly over to the tree as if compelled.

Now that Starsky was here, Hutch found himself at a loss to say anything. He closed the door and watched silently as Starsky reached out to touch the little star, then crouched down to look at the presents.

"These are all for me?" Starsky said, his voice high.

"Uh. Yeah," Hutch replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "Hey, you want a beer or something?"

"Nooo," Starsky said slowly. He straightened and turned. "What I want is not to feel like a class-A heel. I mean, jeez, Hutch!" He turned back to the tree, shaking his head. "Look at all this! Why didn't you say something?"

"You said...for your family, you needed presents—" Hutch stammered, feeling he'd screwed up somehow.

Starsky shook his head unhappily.

"I'm sorry," Hutch said, confused.

Starsky turned to face him. "About what?" He sounded sad.

"About...well, I'm sorry I made you feel...." Hutch shrugged helplessly.

Starsky stared at him, and then moved restlessly away from the tree, his hands rubbing idly at the dampness on his sleeves. "Such a load of crap," Starsky said finally, ignoring Hutch's look of surprise. "You haven't the first clue what you really should feel sorry for, Hutch."

"What's that supposed to mean?" This whole thing wasn't going at all as planned. Where was the delight? Why wasn't Starsky gleefully tearing into his presents already? How had he got it wrong, this time?

Christmas was just too damned complicated.

"What I mean is, ever since I got shot you've changed...." Starsky said, and Hutch felt a coldness in the pit of his stomach.

"Changed how?" he asked carefully.

"You act all nice all the time," Starsky said succinctly. "Even when I'm being a total shit."

Hutch relaxed.

"Look at tonight. How come you didn't just tell me you still wanted me to come over? How come you never ask for anything _you_ want?" Starsky sounded exasperated.

Hutch shrugged again, the whole conversation beyond him. "What I want is for you to open your goddamned presents," he muttered.

Starsky gave a surprised-sounding laugh, but made no move toward the little tree.

"I thought you _liked_ Christmas," Hutch said, getting a little ticked now himself. "I thought presents were important to you."

Starsky walked slowly over to the couch and sank down. "Yeah, well, people change, Hutch. _I've_ changed."

 _I know that, buddy. Don't you think I've noticed how heavy you seem all the time? How Gunther took all your lightness away?_ He'd bite his own tongue off before he said it, though.

"Maybe I've changed too, Starsk. Maybe I want there to be Christmas now," Hutch said, sitting beside him.

"What, you're saying you were planning on taking the Dobeys up on their invitation for Christmas dinner? That you were going to head over to Babcock's big carol-singing party afterwards?"

Hutch suppressed a shudder.

"See?" Starsky said, smirking a little. "You're fulla shit."

"Well, maybe I wanted Christmas for _you_ ," Hutch admitted slowly.

Starsky's eyes caught his, and there was such warmth in them that Hutch had to take a quick breath.

"And what about you? What do you want for yourself?" Starsky asked. He moved closer and casually laid his hand on Hutch's knee.

 _Oh, don't do that,_ Hutch thought. He swallowed.

"I already got what I wanted," he said semi-truthfully.

Starsky shook his head, frowning. "That's old news, Hutch. What about for right now?" His voice was low, almost seductive. Trying to coax it out of him, Hutch realized.

But he couldn't possibly say what he really wanted. He couldn't even tell Starsky about the other thing he'd been hoping for—that Starsky's eyes would light up when he'd seen the tree and the presents, as if they could fix something. As if anything Hutch could do would somehow make that light return.

It was hopeless.

"Hutch?"

Hutch turned his head. Starsky was even closer now, and the glow from the tree behind him was casting a colorful halo around his hair. Hutch swallowed against the dryness in his throat, searching for some safe words. But there were none. Just the deep blue of Starsky's eyes staring into his, and the angles of his cheekbones, still too prominent after his recovery.

 _I want you to be happy, Starsk. Is that too much to wish for, after all you've been through? And I want us to...be together, and I know_ _that's too much to ask for._

Christmas was such a crock.

Hutch shook his head wordlessly and let it fall back against the couch. He stared up at his ceiling. _Funny, I don't think I've ever noticed that crack before._

He heard Starsky give a heavy sigh.

"You know what I want for Christmas, Hutch?" The words, and the longing in them, brought Hutch's attention back in a hurry.

"What? What do you want, Starsk?" he asked.

Starsky's reply was slow in coming. "I want to...I want someone to be with. Someone who really...cares about me."

 _Ah, Christ._ _Why'd you have to go and say that, Starsk?_ Hutch squeezed his eyes shut. _Why'd it have to be something I can't possibly give you?_

He heard Starsky sigh again, and felt him shift beside him on the couch. Then he said, "You know anyone...interested in the job, Hutch?"

Hutch's eyes opened slowly as the words and tone sank in. He turned his head, half expecting a wry shrug to wipe away the apparent double meaning.

But Starsky was motionless, looking straight at him, and there was a curious awkwardness in his posture, and something hiding in the subtle shadows of his deep-set eyes.

 _Impossible._

But Hutch cleared his throat and said carefully, handling the words as if they were a bomb, "Yeah. I-maybe I know...someone."

And for a second, just one second, that light appeared on Starsky's face.

Hutch had to take a deep breath. He was feeling strangely dizzy. "In fact, I'm pretty sure I do," he said, a little more boldly.

The corner of Starsky's mouth twitched, and the tight band around Hutch's heart eased just a fraction.

"Anybody I know?" Starsky asked, his voice as dark as bittersweet chocolate.

Hutch could only nod wordlessly.

Starsky gave a breathless laugh, almost a gasp. "You gonna make me guess?"

Hutch nodded again, then smiled when the lightness reappeared, softening the hard planes of Starsky's face.

"Is it Bigelow? He's been looking at me kinda queer lately," Starsky said.

Hutch shook his head, then numbly reached out to touch Starsky's face, his fingers moving of their own accord to sink into the still-damp curls by his temple. He let his palm rest against Starsky's cheek, and took a shaky breath when Starsky momentarily turned his head into the caress.

"Huggy, then? He's always been a snazzy dresser," Starsky murmured against his hand.

"Shut up," Hutch said softly.

"Oh, yeah?" Starsky smiled, then said with a fierce glint, "Make me."

So Hutch did.

He dropped his hand to Starsky's shoulder and leaned in, carefully studying Starsky's face as he neared, still half-wondering, in a daze, if maybe he was wrong about this, about the sultry dip of Starsky's eyelid, or the dampness of his lips, as if he'd licked them in preparation.

But Starsky was solid as a rock, unmoving, as Hutch got closer. The scent of Starsky's soap, and the faint musk of him, tickled Hutch's nostrils. Then he was close enough to smell Starsky's breath. Eggnog? Starsky must've stopped by the Pits on his way.

Hutch was traveling through ten years in time in the space of five inches, four. It seemed to be taking him forever to close the final gap, but then Starsky impatiently moved toward him, and they crossed the last three inches together. And then their lips met.

Hutch wasn't ready for it when it happened, when Starsky's lips touched his, and his mouth opened for him—and then, no fooling, his tongue was in Hutch's mouth.

 _Jesus. Oh, Jesus,_ Hutch thought, and he heaved in a breath. It was the last chance he had for a while as Starsky's hand rose, gripping the back of Hutch's head to make the seal tight between their mouths.

And Starsky tasted so good. Just that hint of rum, and the sweetness of his tongue. Hutch braced his hand on the couch and leaned over him, pressing Starsky backward. They kissed for a while, tongues thrusting and dancing, and then Starsky surged up and turned Hutch's head in his hands so they were both lying against the back of the couch, still kissing, lips moving crazily.

Hutch's cock grew three sizes in his pants, and he had to reach down hastily to adjust himself. Starsky laughed into his mouth and Hutch pulled back, vaguely affronted. But then Starsky's hand came down to touch his thigh and slide up to his groin. And suddenly Hutch couldn't breathe at all.

"Starsk—" he gasped, and then his hard-on was being pressed in a firm grip, squeezing him through his cords. "Jesus!"

"Touch me, Hutch," Starsky said, sounding frantic, and he grabbed Hutch's hand to guide it to his own crotch. Hutch complied, panting into Starsky's mouth as he traced his fingers on the bulge in Starsky's jeans before closing his hand over Starsky's cock.

Starsky yelled, and Hutch smiled. _Hard for me. I made him hard._

He kept kissing, nibbling at Starsky's lips while he tried with fumbling fingers to navigate the fly of Starsky's pants. Impatiently, Starsky pulled away from him to yank open his belt and jeans himself. Hutch took the opportunity to do the same, groaning with relief at the ease of pressure as he exposed his erection to the air.

Starsky looked over at the sound, his mouth split wide in a manic grin. Suddenly Hutch wanted to laugh. _Like two kids having a circle jerk._ Only this was _Starsky_ , and when those blue eyes dropped down to Hutch's cock and then rose again, the heat in them made Hutch swallow dryly.

This was no game.

Then they were reaching for each other, knocking forearms, and Hutch cursed with frustration when Starsky's arm got in the way, but then his hand was on Hutch's cock, and Hutch threw back his head and moaned at the sweetness of it, of the sure grip touching his naked, needy flesh, and the thumb that rose to fondle the crown. Then Starsky rose over him, jerking Hutch's cock while he kissed him deep.

"Faster. God. Faster," Hutch begged into Starsky's mouth, and he thought he'd pass out Starsky obliged, stroking him hard and fast, and then Hutch was coming helplessly, yelling in surprise, and Starsky pulled away from the kiss. Hutch opened his eyes to see Starsky watching him closely as the pleasure swept over him, and he moaned again. _Watching me come._

He shuddered as the last of the waves struck him, and then Starsky released him. As Hutch watched, dazed with pleasure, Starsky raised his hand deliberately to lick the come from his fingers.

"You sexy bastard," Hutch muttered, and he pulled Starsky in to kiss him and taste himself on Starsky's tongue. Then he reached down and finally, finally held Starsky's hard-on in his hand.

Starsky gasped and collapsed by Hutch's side, hips writhing to pump into his grip. But the angle was awkward and frustrating. And Hutch wanted to do more, so much more. He slid down to his knees beside the couch and looked up into Starsky's surprised face.

Hutch smiled and squeezed between his knees, and Starsky slouched down on the couch and spread them wide, still looking disbelieving.

"Have to taste you," Hutch explained, and Starsky's cock throbbed in his hand. Starsky's eyes widened, and Hutch smiled again, then lowered his head.

He barely had time to register the taste, different from his own, and the oddness of having a cock in his mouth, before Starsky jerked up with a shout, almost choking him with hard flesh. Hutch pulled back and gave him a warning look, then locked his forearms around Starsky's thighs, dropping his head again to take Starsky back into his mouth. This time, Starsky lay passively and took it while Hutch explored the tip with his tongue, dipping into the slit, tasting him. Then he took the head deeper into his mouth and sucked.

He heard Starsky moaning and imploring him not to stop, and then he felt two strong hands clutching at his head, guiding his movement. Hutch followed the unspoken request, bobbing his head up and down, trying to keep his teeth covered.

It was unlike anything he had ever done before—not just because Starsky was a man, but because Hutch had never felt such a need before. He knew he would do anything, anything at all to please Starsky. To make him feel good. To make him keep making those sounds, like a wildcat in heat. To make his trembling quicken. Hutch wrapped one hand around Starsky's shaft, jerking in counterpoint to his sucking rhythm, and then Starsky was tensing beneath him, his thigh muscles rock-hard under Hutch's forearms, and he started coming.

Hutch registered the taste, almost soapy and bitter as it collected in his mouth. He tried to swallow it but Starsky whimpered when Hutch's jaw closed slightly, and Hutch let the rest of it pool in his mouth while he continued to move his tongue. Finally, Starsky sagged back, his thighs relaxing, and Hutch pulled away, keeping his lips closed gently around the softened flesh as he came up for air.

Hutch swallowed and looked up.

Starsky's dark eyes were slitted, staring down at him.

Neither spoke.

But first, he had to know. Had to see Starsky's reaction now that the urgency had passed. Hutch's brain felt like a barn door caught in a twister as he sat on the couch, trying to gather his thoughts.

 _What now?_ It seemed like the kind of question he should have asked before all this started, but all he could think of then was the gift of Starsky almost, impossibly, in his grasp.

The best gift, ever.

Hutch turned his head to find Starsky looking at him.

 _Oh, God._ _What do I say?_ "Are you...that is, is everything—"

Hutch stopped abruptly when a hand came up to tenderly stroke back the hair sticking to his forehead. He sighed and closed his eyes.

"I liked my present just fine, Hutch," Starsky said, his voice husky. "Only question I have is, is it the kinda gift that keeps on giving?"

Hutch mouth opened to form words, but he had to wet his lips and swallow before saying, haltingly, "If-if you want. Anything you want."

"Oh, I _want_ ," Starsky said. He leaned over and Hutch sighed at the sensation of Starsky's lips gently touching his brow.

Maybe Christmas wasn't a crock, after all. Maybe, just perhaps, it was a miracle.

Then Starsky's lips were on his again, and his hands were on Hutch's shirt.

"My plane leaves in thirteen hours," Starsky said, yanking at his buttons. "Come with me?"

"As often as I can," Hutch promised, and Starsky laughed.

Right before Starsky's lips took his and Hutch closed his eyes again, he caught sight of his little tree over Starsky's shoulder, the presents piled high beneath, all still waiting to be opened.

And the lights seemed to be winking.

 _Finis._

December 18, 2005  
San Francisco, CA

**Author's Note:**

> *With apologies to Dr. Seuss:
> 
>  _And what happened then . . .?  
>  Well . . . in Who-ville they say  
> That the Grinch's small heart  
> Grew three sizes that day!_
> 
>  _And the minute his heart didn't feel quite so tight,  
>  He whizzed with his load through the bright morning light  
> And he brought back the toys! And the food for the feast!  
> And he . . .  
> . . . HE HIMSELF . . . !  
> The Grinch carved the roast beast!_
> 
> —How the Grinch Stole Christmas by Dr. Seuss


End file.
